


Uncontrollable

by PleaseDontFindThisMom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, BAMF John Watson, Dark John Watson, Graphic Description of Injuries, Mage Sherlock, Rogue John, Sherlock Being Sherlock, empath greg, in a way at least, it's not that graphic but i tagged it to be safe, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PleaseDontFindThisMom/pseuds/PleaseDontFindThisMom
Summary: There was something mad, unfettered, something akin to insanity or unruly. The complexion looked all wrong with a sharp focused gaze, wide grin and tensed muscles. The emotions rolling off of the man were no longer merely manic in excitement, there was now underlying coldness to them, something akin to apathy and contemn
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Greg Lestrade & his team, Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Kudos: 5





	Uncontrollable

It was easy to lose faith in humanity in Greg’s line of work. No matter how many slaughtered bodies he saw there was always another mutilated corpse to be found, the seemingly endless line of murdered continuing on and on. And to make matters worse, Greg’s magic made it all the more easy to give up hope. Being empath, he picked up the foul emotions of the countless criminals that they caught. The emotions were dark, dirtied, twisted and left an unpleasant taste in one's mouth. Yes, it was very easy to lose faith in humanity should you be in Greg’s shoes. Then again, Greg and many others would be out of job should there not be so many poor souls bathing in their own blood.

Walking into the building of the latest crime scene Greg projected calm to his team. He had never been very good at projecting emotions but hard practice had made calming down easy for him; it was helpful to have a calm team so it was the one emotion Greg had mastered. Grateful glances were shot his way as people noticed the calming effect and got to work. Sometimes Greg worried that they would develop dependency to the artificial calm but the benefits outweigh the small risk of that happening. Especially since they would need his calming to deal with Sherlock who worked with Greg most of the time. 

_ Speak of the devil and he shall appear _ . The belstaff swooshed behind the detective as he entered the crime scene. Anderson made some sort of gurgling noise in his throat, sentiment that was clearly shared by many others present. John trailed in after Sherlock, receiving as close to positive reception as was possible, stark contrast to the reaction the detective had gotten. But given how much more pleasant Sherlock was if the doctor was present most were deeply grateful for the man’s mere existence, ready to give an arm or leg should the doctor ask for them.

Unlike John, Greg didn’t feel the need to listen to Sherlock’s every deduction as brilliant as they were so the DI zoned out while the detective talked. There were telltale signs when something important was said, like John’s widening eyes and smile or noticeably sharp twirl from Sherlock or groan from Anderson. Greg had long since learned to pick up on those signs as to when to focus so he could safely take a moment to himself.

Out of nowhere, excitement hit Greg. Mad, aroused excitement. Turning to look at Sherlock automatically Greg was surprised when the feeling wasn’t coming from the detective but rather from the doctor crouching next to him. Both were looking at the blood stained glove the victim was still wearing, looking at each other in a form of silent conversation. It made the DI uneasy.

“What are you thinking about?” The duo turned to look at Greg, faces split open with matching grins. It did nothing to expel Greg’s anxiety so he stepped closer as the two stood up. Sherlock had taken the bloodied glove and was holding it up like it should have explained everything (to him it probably did). John beckoned for Greg to follow them as they went outside with almost every other person in the room coming as well (no doubt out of curiosity - or perhaps to complain at Sherlock for taking the glove).

Donovan raised her eyebrows silently, scowling, when the group got outside but blessedly stayed quiet while taking place next to Greg. The DI shook his head, silently ordering his team to stay quiet, and they set to wait for an explanation. John set to loosening his collar while Sherlock finally twirled around to address the MIT. “Our serial killer made a mistake.” 

Looking at the glove and then back at the detective Donovan scoffed. “And pray tell what it is?” The detective rolled his eyes and John snickered uncharacteristically. 

“This glove is soaked with their blood. Even you lot should have noticed that the victim fought with the killer, most likely breaking his nose at some point. Thus, this glove is sodden with his blood.” Considering that the glove could give them nothing more than DNA evidence when they already knew the killer’s identity (catching Oliver Jackson was the troubling bit) Greg didn’t understand what made the glove so important. Turning to look at John again he found the man with opened collar, collarbones and neck bared. John was looking expectly at Sherlock who was still facing the team. Noticing where Greg was looking Sherlock turned to look as well. Smiling widely he raised his unoccupied hand to John’s neck, seemingly running his fingers all over it. It took a while for Greg to understand the man was muttering a spell of sort while running his fingers over the exposed skin. 

Not daring to interrupt Greg opted to step closer to see what Sherlock was doing. The man was apt at rune magic, giving him the ability to perform various magic acts with usage of written spells. Thus he would need written runes at John’s neck for the spell to do anything. Stepping even closer Greg tried to see something but the neck remained bare.

Shooing motion of John’s hand surprised Greg into stepping away from the duo. Meeting the doctor’s eyes Greg found he wasn’t angry but the hardness insisted that the DI give the two space. Quick inspection confirmed there was indeed no anger within the doctor’s emotions. Withdrawing to the line the yarders had former Greg grew even more curious as to what was going on when John’s neck lit up. Runes, dozens upon dozens of runes adorned the neck going from the collarbones up to the jaw. They were swimming between being crimson and light lilac in color, settling to crimson when Sherlock stopped talking. Greg barely registered the gasps behind his back - while the empath had had the pleasure of witnessing the mage’s spellcasting on multiple occasions, most of his team was not so fortunate. Or unfortunate depending on how you look at it.

Sherlock raised the glove to the doctor’s nose who smelled it intently, looking like he was savoring the smell. Giving the ex army medic’s face a closer look Greg noticed something else too. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was as if there had been millions of tiny changes, soft transformations that added up to reveal a completely different image from the original while being impossible to pinpoint. John didn’t look soft spoken as he usually did or even hard like he was prone to look when they were chasing criminals or the man was angry. No, there was something mad, unfettered, something akin to insanity or unruly. The complexion looked all wrong with a sharp focused gaze, wide grin and tensed muscles. The emotions rolling off of the man were no longer merely manic in excitement, there was now underlying coldness to them, something akin to apathy and contemn. Apparently satisfied with sniffing the glove the doctor took his nose off of it and nodded. Sherlock’s smirk widened even more as he rolled the shorter man’s cuff back, revealing leather band. Greg gasped loudly, the noise cutting through the space that had been filled with only deep breathing previously.

The leather band was embroidered with lines and the inspector would recognise the patterns they formed anywhere; the band was government issued, made to chain in powers that were too risky to leave unsupervised. Under the whole team's watchful eyes Sherlock opened the leather band with two quick words. 

The doctor’s demeanor changed yet once again, the small changes adding up to form a completely new image yet again. He was no longer standing straight, instead all the muscles were flexed in a stance like he was ready to fight. Sharp eyes shooting around the scene, bloodshot (when did they become bloodshot?), and nose flaring. The fingers were juddering as if the man wanted to grip something.  _ Tear something apart _ Greg’s mind filled. Then the doctor froze, raised his head slowly and looked off into the distance before shooting off. Greg had no choice but to watch as the man ran away too fast for any of them to follow, scaling one of the buildings after crossing a street. He disappeared into a distance, leaving behind only echoes of ragged breathing and the leather band still in Sherlock’s hand.

“Care to explain, freak.” The way Donovan added the degrading term, almost like an afterthought, told Greg she said it more out of reflex than anything else. Deciding to leave chastising in favor of possibly getting answers Greg strode up to the detective, taking the hand still holding the leather band in his own.

Both men looked down at the band for a long moment, during which the most curious or brave of the DI’s team came closer to listen, before Greg locked eyes with the detective. “I never knew John was Rogue.” Sherlock’s eyes seemed to glimmer for just a second and Greg allowed himself some satisfaction over the detective’s subtle acknowledgement. Encouraged by the rare feat, Greg marched on. “They were your runes on his neck, right? That’s how you can control him even if it should be impossible.”

Groan shook both the detective inspector and the consulting detective to look at the crowd around them. Or rather at Anderson who had been the one groaning. “You can’t control Rogue, that’s one of the basic characteristics of them. They aren’t called feral, untamed animals for nothing.” Feral, untamed animals. Greg supposes there was seed of truth in that even if the wording made it sound vulgar. ‘Rogue’ was just a government issued term that wouldn’t sound too offensive while being somewhat truthful. Indeed while rogue was a passing adjective as to what John was, feral and untamed were closer to the crux of the matter.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and snapped his wrist off from Greg’s hold. “Does your brain even register what your eyes see I wonder? You witnessed contrary evidence just now yet you still spout out your nonsense.” The harsh words added to the annoyance rolling off of the man made Greg wince but he admitted the detective was right. The question is how. Apparently Sherlock picked up the question since the annoyance evaporated to make room for pride bordering on arrogance.

Sporting one of his smug smiles, one of the ‘I am smarter than you and about to prove why’ smiles, Sherlock spun around to stare where John had disappeared off to. “To work, the magic energy within Rogues that allows them to pass far beyond the limits of normal human bodies has to bypass most of the cognitive functions of the brain and this often results in the cognitive functions collapsing. The bands,” Sherlock raised the band lazily for everyone to see as if it was just a corner shop pen and not an illegally off taken restriction band, “cement the cognitive functions and keep the magic at bay. Together with John we managed to work out spells that would allow the magic to run freely and he would be able to keep his wits during it. I won’t bother trying to explain the delicate details as they would no doubt fly over your heads but the gist is to weave his emotions to his cognitive side while awakening some subconscious functions. Even you lot should know how emotions sharpen with Rogues when their magic takes charge - in fact the magic agitates them - so when the cognitive functions are woven to emotions, the person regains some of them.”

Mulling the words over and blatantly ignoring the insults Greg tried to grasp what was actually said. “You are saying his reasoning is weakened but still there since they are locked with his emotions that are in charge right now. How do you control him then?” There is an almost pleased raise of eyebrows as Sherlock looks at Greg with his kaleidoscope eyes.

“I am not controlling him actually.” New round of sharp breaths sound around them and Greg could hear Anderson mutter ‘I told you can’t control Rogue’ under his breath.

“You are not? Isn’t freeing him really dangerous then?” Smith, the new technician whose name Sherlock no doubt didn’t remember, said, voice wavering with discomfort. Having Rogue you couldn’t control at large was a risk so Greg could sympathize with the woman. Sherlock apparently did not since he just rolled his eyes yet once again and turned away.

“I wouldn’t have freed him had there been a risk and I don’t have to control him for that. He is slave to his emotions and impulses right now but the basic ability to think helps him know what he is actually feeling and what he actually wants - or in most cases what he doesn’t want, like tear everyone around him apart. There is strong, mutual trust between us that allows me to ask him to do things and that allows him to let me do so.” The detective chuckled somewhat bitterly. “As sentimental as it is, sentiment is just what makes this safe for us. In fact I think I am the only person he would trust enough to do this with.” Ignoring the bit about Sherlock despising - mostly fakely Greg could tell - sentiment, Greg tried to grasp what was actually being told this time. 

Coming to a conclusion Greg stepped up to look at the distance alongside the detective. “So, just to summarize, John trusts you which reflects in his emotionally directive state. And when paired with some thinking capabilities he is able to recognize this in his state. And that makes him mild enough to not be a threat.” Sherlock doesn’t say anything but the lack of disagreement is as good as admission.

Just as Greg was settling to wait for the doctor to reappear, a snarl sounded behind him. Donovan rounded to stand in front of Sherlock, eyes narrow and lips just a thin line. “Doesn’t that mean he is not dangerous to only  _ you _ yet remains danger to anyone who happens to set him off the wrong way or you sike him on.” Greg expected the detective to snarl back or ignore the sergeant and was surprised when the man’s lips widened into a mocking smile instead.

“You should step back, Sergeant.” Donovan narrowed her eyes further but obeyed. For a half a minute, during which no one dared to say more, nothing happened. Then a silhouette appeared against the skyline. When the black spot came closer Greg could make out the shape of the doctor - and something else that the man was carrying over his shoulder. Before anyone could say anything or even begin to guess as to what that something was John was already jumping down to the street and running over. The weight was flung off his shoulder to rest in front of Sherlock’s feet. 

It was Oliver Jackson.

With countless wounds oozing blood and face marred with bruises Greg would have assumed the man dead if not for the weak rise and fall of the chest. His left leg seemed to be twisted in an unnatural angle, limbs slack around the man and his eyes were looking ahead without seeing anything. The shocked silence carried on for almost ten seconds before people snapped into action. Greg, untrained and unable to help the man, decided to look at the detective and the doctor instead. The two had walked to the side, supposedly to stay out of the way. Sherlock had finally dropped the sodden glove and was now working the leather band back around John’s wrist. John didn’t look much different from when he had run off save for the ruffled attire - yet it looked like it had disheveled during his run rather than fight. If not for the blood coating the good doctor’s fingers and running down his chin Greg would have assumed Oliver was found in his battered state. The detective’s emotions reflected satisfaction and pride while those rolling off from the doctor screamed bloodlust and unstated hunger above the mirth and delight the man was also feeling.

Before Greg had time to look away John turned sharply to face him. The wide grin emblazoning his face reminded Greg why smiling was considered as a positive sign only among humans. 


End file.
